Cynthia's Revels Part 29

AMO. Forgive it now: it was the solecism of my stars.

CRI. The wring by the hand, and the banquet, is ours.

MER. O, here's a lady feels like a wench of the first year; you would think her hand did melt in your touch; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length when you prest 'em, they are so gently delicate! He that had the grace to print a kiss on these lips, should taste wine and rose-leaves. O, she kisses as close as a c.o.c.kle. Let's take them down, as deep as our hearts, wench, till our very souls mix. Adieu, signior: good faith I shall drink to you at supper, sir.

ANA. Stay, monsieur. Who awards you the prize?

CRI. Why, his proper merit, sir; you see he has played down your grand garb-master, here.

ANA. That's not in your logic to determine, sir: you are no courtier. This is none of your seven or nine beggarly sciences, but a certain mystery above them, wherein we that have skill must p.r.o.nounce, and not such fresh men as you are.

CRI. Indeed, I must declare myself to you no profest courtling; nor to have any excellent stroke at your subtile weapons; yet if you please, I dare venture a hit with you, or your fellow, sir Dagonet, here.

ANA. With me!

CRI. Yes, sir.

ANA. Heart, I shall never have such a fortune to save myself in a fellow again, and your two reputations, gentlemen, as in this.

I'll undertake him.

HED. Do, and swinge him soundly, good Anaides.

ANA. Let me alone; I'll play other manner of play, than has been seen yet. I would the prize lay on't.

MER. It shall if you will, I forgive my right.

ANA. Are you so confident! what's your weapon?

CRI. At any, I, sir.

MER. The Perfect Close, that's now the best.

ANA. Content, I'll pay your scholarity. Who offers?

CRI. Marry, that will I: I dare give you that advantage too.

ANA. You dare! well, look to your liberal sconce.

AMO. Make your play still, upon the answer, sir.

ANA. Hold your peace, you are a hobby-horse.

ASO. Sit by me, master.

MER. Now, Crites, strike home. [A CHARGE.]

CRI. You shall see me undo the a.s.sured swaggerer with a trick, instantly: I will play all his own play before him; court the wench in his garb, in his phrase, with his face; leave him not so much as a look, an eye, a stalk, or an imperfect oath, to express himself by, after me. [ASIDE TO MERCURY.]

MER. Excellent, Crites.

ANA. When begin you, sir? have you consulted?

CRI. To your cost, sir. Which is the piece stands forth to be courted? O, are you she? [TO PHILAUTIA.] "Well, madam, or sweet lady, it is so, I do love you in some sort, do you conceive? and though I am no monsieur, nor no signior, and do want, as they say, logic and sophistry, and good words, to tell you why it is so; yet by this hand and by that candle it is so: and though I be no book-worm, nor one that deals by art, to give you rhetoric and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is so? yet, d--n me, but I know it is so, and am a.s.sured it is so, and I and my sword shall make it appear it is so, and give you reason sufficient how it can be no otherwise but so--"

HED. 'Slight, Anaides, you are mocked, and so we are all.

MER. How now, signior! what, suffer yourself to be cozened of your courtship before your face?

HED. This is plain confederacy to disgrace us: let's be gone, and plot some revenge.

AMO. "When men disgraces share, The lesser is the care."

CRI. Nay, stay, my dear Ambition, [TO HEDON.] I can do you over too. You that tell your mistress, her beauty is all composed of theft; her hair stole from Apollo's goldy-locks; her white and red, lilies and roses stolen out of paradise; her eyes two stars, pluck'd from the sky; her nose the gnomon of Love's dial, that tells you how the clock of your heart goes: and for her other parts, as you cannot reckon them, they are so many; so you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his own, unfortunate Hoyden, instead of Hedon. [A FLOURISH.]

ASO. Sister, come away, I cannot endure them longer.

[EXEUNT ALL BUT MERCURY AND CRITES.]

MER. Go, Dors, and you, my madam Courting-stocks, Follow your scorned and derided mates; Tell to your guilty b.r.e.a.s.t.s, what mere gilt blocks You are, and how unworthy human states.

CRI. Now, sacred G.o.d of Wit, if you can make Those, whom our sports tax in these apish graces, Kiss, like the fighting snakes, your peaceful rod, These times shall canonise you for a G.o.d.

MER. Why, Crites, think you any n.o.ble spirit, Or any, worth the t.i.tle of a man, Will be incensed to see the enchanted veils Of self-conceit, and servile flattery, Wrapt in so many folds by time and custom, Drawn from his wronged and bewitched eyes?

Who sees not now their shape and nakedness, Is blinder than the son of earth, the mole; Crown'd with no more humanity, nor soul.

CRI. Though they may see it, yet the huge estate Fancy, and form, and sensual pride have gotten, Will make them blush for anger, not for shame, And turn shewn nakedness to impudence.

Humour is now the test we try things in: All power is just: nought that delights is sin.

And yet the zeal of every knowing man Opprest with hills of tyranny, cast on virtue By the light fancies of fools, thus transported.

Cannot but vent the Aetna of his fires, T'inflame best bosoms with much worthier love Than of these outward and effeminate shades; That these vain joys, in which their wills consume Such powers of wit and soul as are of force To raise their beings to eternity, May be converted on works fitting men: And, for the practice of a forced look, An antic gesture, or a fustian phrase, Study the native frame of a true heart, An inward comeliness of bounty, knowledge, And spirit that may conform them actually To G.o.d's high figures, which they have in power; Which to neglect for a self-loving neatness, Is sacrilege of an unpardon'd greatness.

MER. Then let the truth of these things strengthen thee, In thy exempt and only man-like course; Like it the more, the less it is respected: Though men fail, virtue is by G.o.ds protected.-- See, here comes Arete; I'll withdraw myself. [EXIT.]

ENTER ARETE.

ARE. Crites, you must provide straight for a masque, 'Tis Cynthia's pleasure.

CRI. How, bright Arete!

Why, 'twere a labour more for Hercules: Better and sooner durst I undertake To make the different seasons of the year, The winds, or elements, to sympathise, Than their unmeasurable vanity Dance truly in a measure. They agree!

What though all concord's born of contraries; So many follies will confusion prove, And like a sort of jarring instruments, All out of tune; because, indeed, we see There is not that a.n.a.logy 'twixt discords, As between things but merely opposite.

ARE. There is your error: for as Hermes' wand Charms the disorders of tumultuous ghosts; And as the strife of Chaos then did cease, When better light than Nature's did arrive: So, what could never in itself agree, Forgetteth the eccentric property, And at her sight turns forth with regular, Whose sceptre guides the flowing ocean: And though it did not, yet the most of them Being either courtiers, or not wholly rude, Respect of majesty, the place, and presence, Will keep them within ring; especially When they are not presented as themselves, But masqued like others: for, in troth, not so To incorporate them, could be nothing else, Than like a state ungovern'd, without laws; Or body made of nothing but diseases: The one, through impotency, poor and wretched; The other, for the anarchy, absurd.

CRI. But, lady, for the revellers themselves, It would be better, in my poor conceit, That others were employ'd; for such as are Unfit to be in Cynthia's court, can seem No less unfit to be in Cynthia's sports.

ARE. That, Crites, is not purposed without Particular knowledge of the G.o.ddess' mind; Who holding true intelligence, what follies Had crept into her palace, she resolved Of sports and triumphs; under that pretext, To have them muster in their pomp and fulness, That so she might more strictly, and to root, Effect the reformation she intends.

CRI. I now conceive her heavenly drift in all; And will apply my spirits to serve her will.

O thou, the very power by which I am, And but for which it were in vain to be, Chief next Diana, virgin heavenly fair, Admired Arete, of them admired Whose souls are not enkindled by the sense, Disdain not my chaste fire, but feed the flame Devoted truly to thy gracious name.